


don't threaten me (with a good time)

by moonlitserenades



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, Just like an excessive amount of profanity, M/M, Slow Burn, Steve Harrington is a disaster bisexual, Unresolved Sexual Tension, they're gonna figure it out eventually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 10:07:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19944406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitserenades/pseuds/moonlitserenades
Summary: "I don’t want anything from you.”Billy smirks again, dangerous. He hasn't moved away. “That’s not true at all, is it?”It's Steve's turn to scoff, now, but it comes out breather than he'd like. His heart is kicking madly in his chest, and he wonders, rashly, if Billy can feel it. It's like that day in gym class all over again--aggressive, competitive, but tinged withsomethingintense and dizzying that Steve is afraid to name. He swallows, and forces himself to try to sound normal when he replies. "So, what, you're a mind reader now?"





	don't threaten me (with a good time)

**Author's Note:**

> Listen, I don't know what's happening here. Apparently I ship these two now.
> 
> (I do know that if I hadn't had [Heart-and-Music](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heart_and_Music) to beta this fic and help me work through approximately one million issues as I was writing it, it would not exist. Thanks, H!)
> 
> (Also, come chat on [tumblr](https://moonlitserenades.tumblr.com) if you want!)

_February 1985_

The Saturday before Valentine's Day, Steve finds his house overrun with the kids and their newest, most ridiculously elaborate campaign. He's been roped into playing, somehow, and...shit, it's actually kinda fun. Still, he's supposed to be the grown-up here, so somewhere around the two hour mark, he insists that they take a break, order some pizza, and maybe stretch their legs a little. 

He spaces out while they're waiting. He hasn't been sleeping great, and the house's echoing emptiness hasn't exactly been making that any easier. (The other day he'd only managed to drift off after putting the bat right beside his bed. He'd woken up from a nightmare and shattered his lamp before he'd registered that it wasn't actually a threat.) 

But anyway, the _point_ is that it's nice, having everyone there. Soothing, or something. So he's as zenned out as he's managed to be in weeks when Dustin's voice breaks through the fog. "Steve. Hey. Steve!"

" _What_ , Henderson?"

Dustin levels an unimpressed look at him, then asks, "Can you give me a ride?"

"When and where?"

"Thursday. To the diner and then the arcade, like we've been talking about for the past twenty minutes."

"Yeah, okay," Steve replies, without bothering to pretend to think about it. "Anybody else?"

"Me too. Please," Lucas pipes up. He keeps glancing over at Max, who seems to glance back just as he looks away. This is what gives Steve a clue. 

"Wait, isn't Thursday Valentine's Day?"

"Dude," says Dustin, exasperated, "have you been listening at all?"

"No," he says, frank. "Wait, okay. What is going on? What did I just agree to?"

"We just all wanted to hang out," Mike pipes up. "And everybody already asked their families, right, guys?" A chorus of _yeah_ s and nods, and Steve raises his eyebrows. 

"Everybody?"

More nodding. 

"So I could call any, uh...guardian...right now and they'd know exactly what I was talking about?"

Even more nodding. No one's shifting around or avoiding eye contact, so Steve figures he can drop the whole concerned-parent routine. "Okay. Yeah. So besides Dustin and Lucas, am I getting anyone else?"

"My mom's taking me and El and Will," says Mike cheerfully. 

"Billy said he'd bring me," Max adds, and Steve chokes on absolutely nothing. 

"Billy is bringing you," he repeats, when he's done coughing. "Your stepbrother, Billy?"

"Yeah." She shrugs. "He does this sometimes. Like, instead of being like _sorry I was an asshole_ he'll just offer to drive me wherever I want to go for a while." 

Steve is saved from having to contemplate whether that means that Billy had dropped her off today or not by the arrival of the pizza. 

(Doesn't matter. He finds out a few hours later, when Billy pulls into his driveway and lays on the horn.)

Max rolls her eyes, but she still hurries to gather her stuff, half-jogging out the door. They all walk her out, but Steve waits on the porch, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed until Billy's car has roared out of sight again. It occurs to him that he'd probably looked ridiculous, but he doesn't care, really. It's the _principle_ of the thing--she might be his stepsister, but they're all, somehow, pretty much Steve's kids at this point. So Billy can act like an asshole if he wants, but he'll have to answer to Steve.

Steve, who will be prepared this time. 

(Steve is no more prepared when Thursday evening actually rolls around.)

Technically, the kids could walk to the arcade from the diner, but he doesn't love the idea of leaving them alone after everything. Neither had Hopper or Joyce, so he'd agreed to stay in the area until the agreed upon 9:00.

It's not like he has anything better to do anyway. 

6:30 finds him perched on the hood of his car in the furthest back corner of the diner parking lot, smoking a cigarette, with his radio resting beside him. It's not like he's literally going to hang out here the whole night, but at the moment, the frigid air feels kind of good. And he likes that he can see the diner from here, in case something happens, but that he's far enough away that none of the other people headed to dinner even notice him there. 

He doesn't even flinch when Billy's car comes screeching up from the other side of the parking lot, parking centimeters away from Steve's.

"What are you still doing here?" he asks when Billy emerges.

Billy's answering smirk is predatory. "The night is young, Harrington, and I’m bored.”

“Go be bored somewhere else.”

“You scared, pretty boy?”

“Yeah, no. I just don’t want you near Lucas. Or any of them.” He’s telling the truth, is the thing. He’s _tired_ , so fucking exhausted in every possible way that he can’t be bothered to care much about whether Billy decides to hit him again or not.

“What, you think I’m going to go in there and start throwing punches?” The level of absolute disdain on Billy’s face is impressive, considering. He rolls his eyes. “I have better things to do.”

“Considering what happened last time the two of you were in the same room, I don’t trust that.” 

“Oh my God, for the last _fucking_ time, I don’t give a damn about any of those little shits.”

There. A spark of annoyance, mingled with disbelief. “So what was with the Rambo routine?”

Billy moves so suddenly that Steve doesn’t even see it happen. One moment he’s lounging against Steve’s car like he has any right to be there, the next, he’s yanked Steve toward him by the front of his shirt, snarling, “Mind your goddamn business.”

A sudden rush of adrenaline makes Steve tense. Billy’s so close now that he can feel the matching tension in his body--feel the way Billy’s coiled like a spring. And Steve realizes, suddenly, that he's waiting for Steve to give him a reason to let all that anger loose.

Too bad.

Not even bothering to try to free himself, he inhales through his nose, slow, his jaw working. When he speaks, each word is sharply enunciated. “Then go. Away.”

Billy practically growls, shoving Steve away again. “ _Fuck_ , Harrington, do you ever get tired of playing the martyr?”

“Mm, nope,” he replies, popping the p as obnoxiously as he can, mostly because he knows Billy expects him to be offended, to argue. “Not at all.” He leans back, lighting another cigarette, turning away again. But Billy doesn’t leave.

“Look,” he says, after an indeterminate amount of silence. “If Max ever brought someone like that into the house, my dad would kick her ass. And I don’t give a shit about her, but she’s still a kid. A girl.”

“Jesus Christ.” Steve feels sick. He looks over at Billy, who’s staring straight ahead, a muscle in his jaw jumping. “Has he hit her before?”

“No,” Billy says, like Steve is an idiot. Like there’s something obvious he’s not seeing. And then it clicks.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he blurts, shaking his head slightly. “I--are you--okay?”

“I don’t want your goddamn pity,” Billy spits, rounding on Steve. His expression is fierce, almost wild. 

“Okay,” Steve says, holding his hands up in wordless surrender. “Alright.” 

He lets the answering silence linger for a while before he speaks again. “It sucks,” he says eventually, carefully, “that that’s happening. But Lucas is a kid, too, and it’s not his fault that your dad is a racist dick.”

Billy scoffs. “What do you want me to say?”

“I mean, ideally, you’d apologize, but I’d settle for you leaving them the hell alone.”

“You want me to say I’m sorry, Harrington?” He steps closer again, crowding into Steve’s space--forcing him to meet his gaze. “I am, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

“Oh, Christ. I meant to _Lucas_. I don’t want anything from you.” 

Billy smirks again, dangerous. He hasn't moved away. “That’s not true at all, is it?”

It's Steve's turn to scoff, now, but it comes out breather than he'd like. His heart is kicking madly in his chest, and he wonders, rashly, if Billy can feel it. It's like that day in gym class all over again--aggressive, competitive, but tinged with _something_ intense and dizzying that Steve is afraid to name. He swallows, and forces himself to try to sound normal when he replies. "So, what, you're a mind reader now?"

Billy huffs a laugh, a small puff of air that Steve can feel on his own mouth, Jesus Christ. "Everybody wants something," he murmurs. They're not actually touching, but the space between them is so small that they might as well be, and God, he's right; Steve _wants._

"I don't," he manages--lies.

_You can't want this, you can't have this, you hate him, and even if you didn't, it's wrong. It's wrong._

_It's wrong._

"No? Nothing?" When Steve doesn't answer, he lets the silence linger agonizingly, refusing to look away. Steve feels pinned in place, almost helpless. Just as he's about to drop his gaze, Billy arches one eyebrow, sly. "You don't even wanna even things out a little, huh?"

Steve exhales, a little shakily. _Pull yourself together._ "What are you talking about?"

Billy's smile is too sharp, too toothy--almost feral. "You wanna hit me, Harrington? I'm right here."

"What?" Steve tries to jerk away, but he's already pressed against the car, so instead he nearly falls backward onto it. "Jesus, no."

"Yeah," Billy breathes, the smile fading. "I didn't think you would." His gaze drifts, slow and deliberate, down to Steve's mouth and lingers there a long, breathless moment; when he looks up again, his eyes are so, so dark. "Then tell me. What. Do. You. Want?" 

"I," Steve says uselessly, floundering. He cannot seem to take a deep enough breath. "I don't know."

_You're lying._

Billy leans forward, telegraphing every moment of the movement, until his lips are brushing Steve's ear. "I think you do," he whispers, and Steve _shivers._

“I don’t get you,” he manages, relieved when his voice comes out steady.

Billy moves back, just enough to look at him again. “No?” 

“No.”

“What’s unclear?” There’s mocking laughter in his tone, but he’s not smiling now.

The words burst out of Steve’s mouth before he can think better of them. “Christ, Hargrove, I can’t tell if you want to fight me or fuck me.” 

Billy tilts his head, just slightly, and his expression is absolutely _wicked_ when he answers, “Can’t it be both?”

Which is, of course, the precise moment that the radio resting beside Steve comes to life with a jarring burst of static, making them both jump. Steve snatches it up with clumsy fingers, torn between relief and disappointment, as Will’s voice comes through. “Steve?”

“What’s up, kiddo?” he blurts out, and Billy takes a step back, visibly straightening up.

“We’re about to pay the check,” he says. “You told us to let you know, so.”

“Yeah, okay.” He still hasn’t managed to pull his eyes away from Billy, who has now shoved his hands into the pockets of his battered leather jacket, rocking back on his heels. He’s not looking back at Steve. “Um, I’ll pull the car up.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

“See you in a minute.” He puts the walkie down again, with a rather louder sound than he’d intended, but Billy’s still staring off into space, suddenly and completely closed off. It’s...bizarrely unbearable, given that less than an hour ago, Steve had wanted him as far away as possible.

“Hey,” he says, and when Billy’s eyes flick back to his face, loses his nerve completely. “Uh...if you want, I can drive Max.”

“What?” Billy snaps.

“After, I mean. I know you said you had plans later, so I can bring her home. If you want.” Every word out of his mouth kind of feels like he’s digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole, but he can’t seem to stop talking.

Billy’s answering laugh is bitter, utterly humorless. “I got it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I said,” he snarls, “I fucking _got it,_ Harrington.” He turns away, gets into his car, and peels out of the parking lot before Steve can even figure out what the hell just happened. 

Only when Billy’s car is completely out of sight does Steve get back into his own. Works out, though--the kids are piling out of the diner, talking a mile a minute, just as Steve pulls up to the front doors.

“Please tell me you didn’t just sit in the parking lot that whole time,” Dustin implores as he bounces into the passenger seat.

“I didn’t just sit in the parking lot that whole time,” Steve parrots, partly to be annoying, and partly because his brain is still too fogged over to think up an actual lie. Dustin makes a disbelieving noise, but drops it.

In the back seat, there seem to be at least three different conversations going on at once; Dustin leaps into one of these with great abandon, and Steve forces himself to focus enough to get them down the street. The noise is a good thing, actually. Grounding. “Be out here at nine,” he says as they pile out of his car again. “Ten after at the latest. I mean it.”

“We promise,” says El, with typical gravitas, and Steve leans back to ruffle her hair. She gives him a small grin, which he returns.

“Okay, nerds,” he adds. “Get the hell out of my car.”

They do.

And Steve drives.

He stays close; at any point, he could get back to them in ten minutes or less. But he can’t stand the idea of sitting there waiting. Can’t stand the idea of not moving, because once he stops, he’s going to have to think. He’s going to have to figure out how the hell he feels about whatever just happened, and he _knows,_ down to his core, that he can’t handle that right now.

Except he also can’t get it out of his head.

Somewhere along the way, he must have come to some kind of subconscious conclusion--some kind of determination that when he goes to pick the kids up, he’s going to talk to Billy. Going to actually do something. But when they come outside, Max is conspicuously absent.

“Max leave early?” he asks, in what he hopes is a casual tone.

“Yeah,” Lucas pipes up. “Billy picked her up at like...8:30, probably?”

“Huh,” Steve manages, and bites his tongue hard against a flood of follow-up questions. 

“He seemed mad,” Will adds, and Mike snorts.

“Isn’t he always?”

“No, but, like...madder than usual.”

Steve tenses. “Did he say anything to any of you?”

“Not really, but you could just tell.”

“Upset,” El pipes up, suddenly.

“What?” He glances in the rearview mirror to look at her, and her dark eyes are very serious. 

“He was upset,” she says, and Steve’s heart twists hard in his chest.

“Oh,” he says, lamely, and then falls silent. The kids, for the most part, are too happy and tired to notice, so he gets them all home without having to actually engage in any further conversation. Once they’re all safely delivered, though, he finds himself driving around aimlessly again. 

He wonders, vaguely, what it would be like to get on the highway and go--just drive until he couldn’t do it anymore, until he was too exhausted to keep his eyes open or the car ran out of gas, whichever came first.

He doesn’t do it, though.

Instead, he finds himself pulling into the parking lot of the tiniest dive bar Hawkins has to offer. It _had_ a name, once, but no one knows what it is anymore. Two letters remain of its original sign, an H and an S, still feebly flickering fluorescent red. It’s kind of disgusting in there, but they never card, and at the moment, that’s all Steve cares about.

Inside, it’s relatively crowded for a Tuesday night. Mostly bitter single guys, Steve figures. And, well, if the shoe fits. But, no. He’s not bitter, not really. Not anymore. He’s worried, though--feels it sharp in his chest.

He takes the last available seat at the bar and finds himself brushing elbows with Billy Hargrove.

“Fuck’s _sake_ ,” Billy snarls. He knocks back the last of his drink and stands up, so quickly he nearly upends the bar stool. And then he’s out the door, Steve hurrying to catch up.

“Hey--Hargrove! Will you _wait_ a minute?” 

Billy stops in the middle of the parking lot, turning a little unsteadily to glare at Steve. “Maybe you can help, Harrington. Maybe _you_ know what middle-of-nowhere hick town we can go to when we end up having to leave Hawkins, huh?”

“What are you talking about?” Steve steps forward, tentative, and when Billy doesn’t move, draws close enough that they can speak quietly. “I’m not gonna tell anyone.”

Billy makes a derisive noise in the back of his throat. A muscle works in his jaw.

“No, I’m serious. Why the hell would I do that?"

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe to get back at me for beating your face in? Maybe because you don’t like the way I talk to your litter of fuckin’ brats? Maybe because you wake up one day and you _feel like it_?”

“I’m not--Jesus.” Steve drops his face into his hands, briefly, pressing the heels of his palms against his closed eyelids until colors start sparking up. “I’m not that person. I’m not gonna do that, and I was never going to do that, even if you weren’t _right_. What would I even tell people without outing myself just as much as you?”

There is an eternity of silence. Steve can hear his heartbeat, thundering worryingly hard. He can feel it in his throat. Christ, what is he even doing? He hasn't even remotely come to terms with this whole thing himself, isn't even sure he knows _what's_ going on, and now he's just handing it to Billy Hargrove like a weapon.

“You could lie,” Billy says finally, but some of the tension has gone out of his body. “You could tell them it was all me.”

“And you could tell them the truth. About me. One word from you tomorrow morning and it’s all over the school by the end of the day. You're the one on top now, did you forget?" 

Another infinite moment. Then Billy inhales, sharp, and says, “I guess we’ll have to trust each other.”

“I guess we will,” says Steve. And then he walks away.


End file.
